Hot and Cold
by Another Canticle
Summary: Sometimes things don't work out exactly the way you expect them to. Sometimes that's alright. Masaya/Ichigo. BDSM.


**Hot and Cold**

Dear TMM fandom: Where's the BDSM? I came to a shiny new fandom looking for smut, and all I found was vanilla. What. The. Fuck!? This is neither the time nor place for me to dissect the erotica I _did_ read, but it's worth noting that this fic is an attempt to rectify the glaring lack of kink you guys have produced.

In case the above was too subtle for you, that means that there is BDSM in this fic, so if you don't like that, please get the fuck out right now. And actually, all there is is BDSM and fluff, no actual sex. So, uh, you know full well what you're getting into.

* * *

Momomiya Ichigo, age 20, lay on her back in near-darkness. The only sound she could make out was her own breathing. She rocked against her bonds, but it was no good; even with the oil that made her skin shine dully in the dim light, the rope twined around her wrists and ankles held fast.

So she lay there, heels drawn up against her naked rear and wrists bound to ankles, and waited. After what felt like an hour—but was probably only a couple seconds—there was an almost inaudible dripping noise, and two small trails of hot, scarlet liquid ran down the plane of her stomach. And then silent fingers, warm as the liquid itself, traced lazy red arcs over her oiled skin.

The only light in the room came from the variegated candles flickering on the nightstand, but Ichigo kept her head resolutely turned away from the light, closing her eyes for good measure. It was exhilarating not to know when the heat would come again, and her body twisted against its restraints, seeking sensation like a flower turning to face the sun.

"Open your eyes, girl. I want you to see what I'm doing to you." Aoyama Masaya's voice was commanding, and the bound woman's rust-colored eyes flicked open immediately. One little flame floated above her chest, and she stared into it, trying to be obedient without losing the strange excitement of sight deprivation, of depending on another person so completely.

The flame bobbed down, again and again, in quick little dives, much shallower than before. Little daubs of royal blue paraffin wax dripped in a wavering line between her breasts and down to her navel. Warmth bloomed in her chest and belly everywhere the wax fell, and as the candle and its holder retreated, she hummed pleasurably and lifted her head to admire the blue dots and red whorls that decorated her pale torso.

"Put your head down now. This display is for me, not you." Again, she complied. Any disappointment in not being able to admire Masaya's handiwork overshadowed by the skill with which he immediately dripped more wax (black or dark green this time, she couldn't tell which) in vague crescents around and between her breasts. He ran his fingers through the melted wax again, this time blazing trails up her small breasts to the peaks of her nipples, always careful not to burn the sensitive skin.

Masaya's tanned fingers, slick with drying wax, tweaked one nipple expertly, earning himself a surprised gasp for his troubles. Ichigo bucked against her bonds, trying to get some friction against her vagina, but the man above her just grasped both of her nipples between his waxy fingers, hard, so that every move Ichigo made pulled or twisted them. Soon, her struggles were less about relieving the tension between her thighs and more about increasing the tension on her breasts.

"Be still." She whimpered at the command, but her movements ceased. "Good girl. You deserve a reward." After that pronouncement, though, Masaya retreated back into the darkness, and Ichigo heard nothing from him for a few long moments.

His hands came back into view eventually, though, and the pressure on Ichigo's nipples was back, though the feeling of warmed metal and rubber replaced her lover's body heat. Masaya waved one hand, curled into a fist, over a clamped nipple, and Ichigo gasped aloud at the sudden coldness.

He repeated the process over the other nipple, then trailed the ice cube he had been palming between the bound woman's breasts. Any still-liquid wax in the area hardened as the temperature dropped, and Ichigo trembled with the effort of keeping still. Without warning, chilled fingers ghosted over her belly and pulled up some of the wax that had dried there.

"Pfft! Hahahaha!" The fingers froze midway though pulling up another line of wax.

"What's so funny?" Masaya's voice lost most of its fearsome tone; instead, he just sounded confused.

"Th-that _tickles_! Ahaha! Your fingers are so cold!"

"Oh really?" he asked archly. "Then I suppose you won't mind if I do this?" Dropping all pretense of removing the parafin, Masaya began tickling his bound girlfriend in earnest, grinning like a maniac.

"Aha—_stop it!_—haha!" she managed to choke out half-coherently.

"You have a safeword..." But Ichigo didn't use it, so he let his freezing fingers dance over her flat tummy until both of them were wheezing with laughter. "You okay?" he asked once he had stopped his assult.

"Yeah," she replied as she tried to catch her breath, "but the scene's shot all to hell." Masaya chuckled at that and shrugged, though he doubted she could see.

"It was our first try with temperature play. If something had to go wrong, I'd rather it be that you find my icy fingers hilarious than that I used the wrong kind of wax and you end up with burns in awkward places."

"Very true," she replied with a laugh. Her boyfriend leaned down to kiss her, and when the two of them came up for air, she added, "So. Are you gonna untie me now?"

"Do you want me to?"

"No, not really."

Masaya grinned and kissed her again.


End file.
